Walking After Midnight.
Epilogue.
(AN: This was written quite a while ago, after the third or fourth chapter. I wasn't sure if I'd ever use it as part of this story, if it'd end up being a standalone, or if it'd be one of those things that just sits on your hard drive and in your brain collecting dust. Well, it turns out I'm using it as a part of this story, after all. So here it is. The epilogue. Tying some things up, leaving some wide open...And that's it. Enjoy.)
-----
Dusk.
She's sitting on the sand, sweatshirt on, hood up. Seems she's always cold lately. She can barely see the outline of the toy plane in the dying light.
Someone sits beside her. They haven't talked, haven't touched, in two weeks, but she still doesn't need to look to know it's him.
"What's that?"
She closes her fist around the plane and lowers it to the sand. Suddenly it seems silly to her that he, of all people, doesn't know the significance of the small toy she always keeps in her pocket. Still, some things are better left unsaid.
He shrugs, as if unconcerned, and his hand comes into her line of vision. Palm open, small bottle of Oceanic liquor chest vodka resting there.
She looks at him then; he has another bottle in his other hand. He raises his eyebrows as if he expects her to take the proffered one.
"Where'd you get those? I thought--"
"Been savin' 'em for a special occasion." A shrug. "Seems we're hard up fer those lately."
She guesses she shouldn't be surprised. He's always held something back for himself. She takes the bottle, twists off the cap, and remembers. I never.
"I've never been pregnant."
It takes him a few moments to realize what she's doing, then his lips twitch, just slightly. "Gonna take a long time to get me drunk if you're playin' that way, Sassafrass."
The use of the nickname almost makes her falter, but she holds his gaze steadily. Unblinking. Lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a tiny sip. A small, humorless quirk of her lips; she knows he remembers. "Didn't last very long." There's a sharp, fresh pain as she says the words, and she imagines he can see it on her face.
His eyes widen just slightly and he looks away, out to sea. Then, quietly, almost a growl: "I never had a daughter."
She flinches, waits, holds her breath. He keeps his eyes trained on some spot far out in the ocean and raises the bottle to his lips and drinks.
-----
She doesn't know how long they've sat there, not talking, not drinking. The light is no longer dying; it's dead, and she only knows he's still beside her because she can still hear him breathing. Slowly she unwraps her fist from around the toy plane. Reaches for him, finds his hand and places the small object in his palm. "It belonged to a man I loved."
He can see her, in his mind's eye, drinking for I never been in love. He closes his fingers around the plane, gently.
"...The man I killed."
His hand stills; he turns his head to look in her direction, though he can barely make her out in the darkness. He uses his fingers to brush away the sand he can feel on the toy, then presses it back into her palm. "What was his name?"
"Tom." She slips the plane back into her pocket, knowing she's played her last hand. He knows now what she's capable of. A man I loved.
Silence again. She wonders how long they can keep this up, the gaping voids between their conversations. The fires down the beach are slowly dying out, reminders that they're not alone on the island.
"I killed Sawyer."
She's not sure she's heard him correctly. "What?"
"Sawyer. I killed him." Yes, that's what she'd heard. "He ripped up the letter and then I put a chain around his neck and I killed him."
The cold desperation in his voice frightens her, and she wonders if he remembers her speaking of Wayne in the same manner. Probably not; he'd been delirious, fevered. She doesn't ask why; she knows why. She doesn't ask how; she knows there is no answer to that question. Instead she reaches for his hand, holding it tightly. She takes a long sip from her bottle, and hears him do the same.
"When...if we're rescued, I'm going to jail."
His hand tightens around hers. "Hell, me too, Freckles."
"Or, James...we could run."
-----
From down the beach, there's a shout. "Port! Starboard!" in Jin's unmistakable accent.
An answering yell. Someone else thinks they see the lights of a boat, too.
He wraps his arms around her and they lay down in the sand to wait.
-----
fin